


i need you (by my side)

by daehwipped



Category: Golden Child (Korea Band)
Genre: M/M, googoos are broke roommates, i don’t even stan golcha, kinda fake deep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-19 09:48:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daehwipped/pseuds/daehwipped
Summary: joochan misses the life he had four years ago. the city's always too fast-paced and it suffocates him, traps him, but he longs for the cold wind whipping through his hair, the clouds that seem hand painted with different shades of colour weaved together, and mostly, him.





	i need you (by my side)

**Author's Note:**

> this is dedicated to my great friend, rin. happy birthday! although this is really shitty and i couldn't be there physically, i hope you'll enjoy this. not really a school au you like the most but i really tried to write different stuff with all the ideas i had, but this one won in the end,, i don't know what to say?? but um i love you very much and i appreciate your existence a lot heart heart <3
> 
> it is included in the tags that i do not stan golcha (half, maybe? idk their songs are a bop) so i apologise if the characters are portrayed differently in comparison to reality.

It was summer when it happened.

The sudden pause of his life, when he was eight— something he wouldn’t ever forget, even when he’s old and grey. It all happened too fast for his little brain to process it properly, and the next thing he knows, he’s perched comfortably on his mother’s lap, in a musty-smelling truck, and he smudges his nose onto the window.

“Joochan, don’t do that. You’ll get a bad itch.” He whines softly as his mother gently tilts his head away. He couldn’t get enough of the seemingly endless fields of tall wild grass (that could probably reach his chest). It’s a fresh change, he thought, from the ruthless metallic gleam of skyscrapers in the city where he used to live. Then again, his mother always had a knack for staying true to her origins.

He doesn’t know what to think of his parents’ separation. Was he supposed to be sad? But his father wasn’t exactly kind to him, and he gets to experience a whole new life. It was like flipping to the first page of a storybook, and honestly, being the kid that he is, Joochan is excited. He doesn’t care where he lives with his mother, or if he makes any friends. He hasn’t had the time to think about that yet, not when he still has his nose pressed to the dirt- splattered window, occasional “ooh”s escaping his small, opened mouth.

Minutes later, when they turn into a small alley with decently sized apartments situated at both sides, Joochan learns that one of them was their new abode. Past the single blue rusted door was a decently sized apartment, with wooden floors and several rooms, but Joochan would grow to reminisce of the way the sunbeams hit the dark wood, the faint scent of lilies that lined the cozy perimeter.

But that was ten years later. For now, he settles the bags clutched in his small, chubby hands onto the floor of a particular room— average sized, and with a dusty balcony. Actually, now that he thinks about it, this new apartment that would house he and his mother was larger than their previous one shared with his father. That’s weird.

“Mommy, can I go outside to play?”

“After you unpack your bags. It’s only the two of us now, Joochan, so promise me you’d help.”

Joochan swallows the strange lump that forms at the back of his throat. He wasn’t a mature teenager, but he knows that life wouldn’t be as easy and nonchalant as previous years. He couldn’t afford to be the same boy who frolicked around everywhere, without a care in the world. And he’s suddenly worried, biting down on his lips as he sits on the abandoned wooden bench outside their apartment.

“Hey. You alright?”

The new voice startled him. Joochan glances up, into the dark chocolate-brown irises of another boy around his age. He had raven bowl-cut hair and fair skin, as well as those large, watery eyes that shone with every shift of light.

“Sort of.” Joochan replied quietly, fiddling with the soft fabric of his pants. The boy nodded, somewhat sympathetically, before reaching out a hand towards him.

“They say that running help you relieve your problems! I know a good place, wanna come?”

Joochan didn’t know what to expect when he grabbed the boy’s hand, but it proved to be the right choice when they stopped at a large field, unused and uninhibited, with those wild grass that tickled at Joochan’s shirt. And sure, running through the field earned him a nasty cut or two from the grass blades, and he was sweaty and panting, but he felt lighter, a newfound energy filling his chest, so strong that it could lift him off the ground.

“Life isn’t that hard. Especially when we’re still kids, you know. Just be happy.” The boy says, lying on the ground, and Joochan spots flecks of golden dotting his deep orbs, reflecting the sun that’s drowning in a messy palette of colours.

“I didn’t realise it’s already sunset. Let’s go home.” The boy continues, sitting up.

“Wait! Before we go, what’s your name?”

The boy turns, and smiles, a dazzling one, his lips curving up and showing a toothless grin. Joochan thinks that it’s better than any sunset he’s ever seen.

“It’s Bomin. Nice to meet you.”

-

Joochan hasn’t ever been worried over friendships. Or having friends in general. He never knows why, but people drift to him on their own, without him trying, and his mother says that he has a natural flair for having a good humour and likeable personality. Maybe that’s why this strange, slight flutter of panic in his chest is causing him to be so restless, just by standing in front of a apartment similar to his own.

He presses down hard on the plastic doorbell, producing what it would seem like a chicken shrieking. Joochan never liked doorbells for this exact reason, and it usually scared the daylights out of him, but in this case, he couldn’t really hear much except for the steady thrumming of his heartbeat, reverberating in his ears.

Bomin flung open the dark wooden door, a look of surprise decorating his face.

“Oh, Joochan. I never expected you to come, but make yourself at home.” Joochan nods weakly, before stepping into what would be his second home for the next ten years and counting.

Joochan has a terrible memory. Mathematic time tables, old poems, telephone numbers, addresses— he can’t remember much. But strangely, it doesn’t apply to the time he spent with Bomin. He remembers every single detail, every second, every moment, so clearly that it scares him. He remembers Bomin’s house, the cramped space that seemed a little suffocating at first, but he loved it, all of it, the nondescript boxes that stacked by the side of the small and heavy television, the warm aroma of chicken soup that made its way all around the house, and sometimes, teenage Joochan would imagine himself walking into the house, just to see a teenage Bomin, much taller, broader, and more good looking, but his eyes never changed. In every childhood dream he ever had, Bomin always has those eyes, the doe-like chocolate eyes that was a galaxy of its own, bursting with fireworks of stars under glare of the bright sun.

Joochan loved Bomin. Or loves, present tense. He’s asked himself the question a few years ago, but really, who maps out someone else’s face, has butterflies fluttering in his stomach endlessly, and not to mention, the urge to just kiss another person if he doesn’t love him? It was a hard time, with his head just crammed with thoughts of the younger boy, dreams filled with him, and yet, fear had him keeping his mouth shut and his feelings under wraps.

Joochan’s always told himself that it was okay, and he would have time, and maybe the courage one day. But he learnt the hard way that time doesn’t wait for anyone.

-

“Joochan!”

The familiar voice activates a natural trigger in him to turn around, face to face with Bomin. He’s panting, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead, and onto his white shirt, and it doesn’t take a genius to guess that he ran.

“Hey, Bomin.”

Silence envelops them. It’s not the good kind of silence they share in the past, but the one where broken promises hang precariously on thin strings, and unspoken words drown them. Joochan would never have thought that his last greeting with Bomin would be at a train station, with the monotonous voice of announcements ringing through the space around them, and the throng of people rushing past them like waves cutting through rocks.

“I-“

Bomin places a finger onto Joochan’s lips.

“It’s better not to say anything.”

He opens his mouth, but words don’t tumble out like they should. Bomin’s right. This is his fault, and they both know there’s something between them. Something precious, something special, something that only exists so beautifully during youth, like the last rose of summer. And leaving this town was equivalent to ripping the flower off the ground. Joochan’s the one destroying the last trace of their “something”, and he hates that. Bomin hates it, too, but it’s better to not say anything than to say something foolish and crush two hearts.

Bomin’s cold finger leaves his lips too suddenly, when the same monotonous voice announces the prompt departure of Joochan’s train after a minute.

“Goodbye.”

He runs into the stale air of the train, and turns, to see the boy waving, a hint of boyishness from his otherwise matured appearance.

Joochan likes to think that waving someone “goodbye” meant that you would see them again someday.

After all, you wave someone “hello” too.

-

“Joochan, dear, you’re absolutely broke.”

Joochan groans inwardly at the slight chiding tone behind Jibeom’s words.

“Damn, you can’t even pay for your daily pack of instant noodles at this rate. All this for the Bomin guy? That’s hardcore dedication.”

“It’s love, dumbass.”

“And what do you know about love, Jaehyun? Hey, didn’t you get dumped by-“

Joochan reckons Jaehyun probably stomped on Donghyun’s foot, from the high-pitched, ear- shattering shriek coming from the latter. These friends of his were his roommates in university, different majors, but as strange and loud as they were, he couldn’t deny that there was something they all shared that bonded them so strongly together— the fact that they’ve all lost someone special. It’s merely just that Joochan chose to brood over it day and night, endlessly like a broken cassette tape, while the rest decided to move on with their lives.

“Shut up. But thanks for booking the ticket for me.” Jibeom nods, before going back to the glowing computer screen, engrossed in some online game that Joochan didn’t know.

“Hey, man, don’t be so upset.” Donghyun says lightly, reaching out to offer a bag of chips. It’s probably been sitting in their room for weeks, but Joochan smiles weakly and accepts it, with no intent to consume the stale doritos.

“I gotta be honest with you though, if you guys loved each other and you left one day, I wouldn’t be surprised if Bomin would be a douchebag towards you.”

Jaehyun’s words are like a pail of iced water being splashed in his face. He was right, no matter how much Joochan wanted to ignore that fact. He was the one who set fire to something that didn’t even begin to exist, and Bomin had all the reason to loathe him. Except that he knew the boy wasn’t someone who could hate something so easily, but then again, it’s been almost four years since he went back. Anything could’ve happened, with time and date changing constantly every nanosecond, twisting and turning in every way possible.

Joochan realises with a start that the Bomin he loved four years ago might not be the Bomin he’s going to meet.

It frightens him. He’s not willing to let go of this- whatever this is. Joochan can’t think of a proper label for the thing that’s between Bomin and him. But if it really happens, he doesn’t have anyone to blame but himself. He had a chance four years ago, to stay. Stay by Bomin’s side, his friends, neighbours, and he chose to leave, to this cold and cruel city where he was in one of the best universities, but he has never felt so alone. The familiar warmth from the steam of homemade food, the hugs, the smile, the breeze— he missed all of it so terribly.

And now he’s back, the wheels of his luggage having a noisy conversation with the rough ground as he turns into the alley. It’s the same, with flyers here and there, stuck to the cement floor with chewed gum, and Joochan catches a whiff of the chicken soup he’s grown to love so much. His heart skips a beat, because whenever he smells that aroma, there’s always a black haired boy he holds so dearly that would appear in a moment.

Maybe some things don’t change, and never will, because the metallic front door with red paint flakes peeling off creaks, and out steps Bomin.

Joochan’s stupefied. He should be running over to embrace him in a bear hug, and he wants to, but his feet seem to have grown roots in the last couple of seconds. Bomin’s barely changed since he last saw him, save for the hair that’s now done up. And of course, those chocolate brown eyes that Joochan loved to indulge in.

Boy, he looks good.

Joochan spaces out after that, either due to excessive exercise by the heart, or a mind lapse, because his nose is buried amidst the soft wool sweater, stubborn strands tickling his nose. Bomin smells like soap, cardboard, and Joochan tries not to let his tears flood his eyes.

“You’re back.” He whispers, gently, like the boy in his arms would break if he spoke any louder.

“I’m back.” Joochan barely croaks out.

Bomin interlocks their fingers and leads Joochan away, from the alley, along the deserted road to somewhere familiar. Joochan knows where this was leading to. The same road watched them grow up for ten years, and he remembers picturing himself, and Bomin, when they were eight, running along the dusty path in his hazy dreams.

The field was as abandoned as he remembered it, but there was something different about it that make his body numb. Maybe because of the smooth blend of colours that dash across the dark canvas of the night sky, and the stars that are like millions of diamond shards refracting a rainbow of its own, the rain of shooting stars that are like droplets of tears. Joochan almost forgot how magical and beautiful nighttime was back here.

He turns, to the dark haired boy beside him, and renews his outdated map. There’s a new crease there, one more spark in those eyes, and as small as these details were, Joochan can’t help but to realise how much he’s missed out.

A warm breeze flutters by, causing the wild grass to be thrown into a frenzy waltz, and Bomin turns around too, catching Joochan’s gaze. He could’ve sworn he caught a slight blush painting itself on his cheekbones.

“I missed you.”

“So did I. But we’re here now, aren’t we?”

Bomin’s fingers tighten around Joochan’s, and a slight smile breaks out on his face. His smile never changed— the little tilt and jerk of his lip tails.

“Can’t you stay?” He asks, quietly.

“I can’t. I’m a student now, but Bomin,”

Bomin hums softly.

“Wait for me. I have one year left, and I’ll return.”

“And you’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay. I promise. But if you don’t want to-“

Joochan doesn’t know what to expect from his rambling, but he certainly didn’t expect to have another pair of lips on his, tentative yet warm, like a cup of hot coffee on a chilly winter morning. Everything was too close— the minty breath of Bomin’s, the five layers of clothes between their skin, even the sky and all of its stars, but mostly, the distance between their lips and hearts were a absolute zero.

Yet Joochan wants all of it to be closer. To hold Bomin like there wasn’t tomorrow, to kiss him harder like it was the last goodbye between them, but he’s too stunned, watching a show of fireworks blossoming into sparks somewhere beyond the sky, and five layers of clothes aren’t able to insulate the zaps of electricity between their skin.

“Of course I want to.” Bomin murmurs, their lips now separated, and forehead against each other’s.

“I’ve always wanted to.”

Joochan takes in the masterpiece in front of him, the grass tickling his bare arms, the occasional burst of light from the shooting stars.

“Then I promise you, I’ll come back. For you.”

The last rose of summer’s alive again, blooming more beautifully than ever.

 


End file.
